


Past and Future in Present Tense

by A_Storm_of_Roses



Category: Green Creek Series - T.J. Klune
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-27
Updated: 2021-01-27
Packaged: 2021-03-12 23:20:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29018865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Storm_of_Roses/pseuds/A_Storm_of_Roses
Summary: 3 times Mark makes up for lost time. 1 time Gordo looks to the future.
Relationships: Mark Bennett/Gordo Livingstone
Comments: 5
Kudos: 20





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first piece of fanfiction I have written in 15 years - something about Green Creek just grabbed me and dragged me in. I don't have a beta, so all mistakes are my own.
> 
> First chapter is set shortly after the ending of Ravensong.

“Lasagna’s just gone in the oven. Dinner in about 30 minutes.” 

Gordo grunted, shaking the snow from his jacket, before shrugging the coat and his work boots off in the front hall. 

His house was warm and smelled of rich tomato and garlic. After just a month he still felt unsettled - coming home to a warm, lit up house. More often than not Mark was clattering in the kitchen, cooking a dinner that wasn’t a frozen pizza or microwave meal.

Making his way to the kitchen, Gordo grabbed a few stray items, tidying as he went. Mark’s sweater, Gordo’s work shirt, Mark’s socks, Mark’s sunglasses, some junk mail addressed to Mark. 

A pattern was emerging. 

Gordo would have never considered himself a neat freak – he liked a clutter-free house, but he wasn’t anal about it. Mark would argue that it was easy to be organized when you only owned about 7 shirts and 3 pairs of pants, half of which were for work. 

Still, despite the growing pains of learning to share a home, Gordo could admit there were some real practical benefits to having Mark living with him. His yard work was always done before Gordo could even notice that the grass was getting long and he was eating better than he had in decades. And the companionship and sex weren’t too bad either, he thought.

Dumping his pile of junk at the base of the stairs – he would bring it up later – Gordo entered the kitchen and found Mark scrubbing up pots and pans, humming softly along to music coming from the Bluetooth speaker that Gordo refused to learn how to work. 

Gordo paused, briefly appreciating the moment. The way Mark’s muscles moved under the tight, cable-knit sweater. How his hair, which he was letting grow out for the first time in years, curled lightly at the edges of his neck. How at peace the man seemed – the Omega still prowled under the surface and Mark could be moody and on edge (pot, kettle, black, thought Gordo), but in the moment he was calm and green and settled. 

Turning away before Mark could catch the goofy smile on his face, Gordo opened the fridge, and grabbed a beer. He could feel Mark watching him as he fumbled with the pull tab of the can, but Mark didn’t offer help. Gordo had been insistent that he learn to function with the loss of his right hand and after the 50 th time he snapped at Mark, Mark had finally stopped fussing over him any time he tried to open something or took a bit too long to get dressed. Mostly. Gordo noted that Mark still wasn’t buying bottled beers, that the fridge was filled with easier to open cans and Tupperware containers. 

“You need a hand with dinner?” Gordo asked before he could stop himself.

Mark snorted.

“No, I’m fine, almost done here. Go sit, you look like shit.” 

“Fuck you too.” Gordo bit back, but there was no real anger there. Just warmth and wry amusement.

With an appreciative groan, Gordo sank into the old couch and flicked on the tv. Mark had insisted on upgrading to a new flatscreen, although Gordo had drawn the line at a smart tv, whatever that was. Electronics were already more complicated than they needed to be. Why a tv needed to be smart was beyond him. 

Using one of the 4 buttons Gordo actually understood on the remote, he browsed through channels, before settling on some action movie from the 90s that he vaguely thought he had seen in the movie theatre with Rico, Tanner, and Chris. He took a swig of beer, leaning his head against the back of the couch and closing his eyes, listening to the sounds of gunfire and explosions blend with the soft guitar music still coming from the kitchen. 

A few minutes passed and Mark joined him on the couch. He snagged the remote, muting the tv as commercials began. Gordo rolled his eyes – he’d always been able to drown out whatever the world wanted to sell him this week, but Mark found them grating. Something about werewolf hearing, he claimed. Gordo thought he was being precious. 

They sat quietly – it was one thing Gordo had always loved about Mark, even when they had been at their most estranged. Mark never felt the need to fill silences with talk. They could just be. Together.

The song playing in the kitchen changed and Gordo cocked his head, listening. 

“What is this? Doesn’t sound like your usual cars, women, and beers bullshit.” Mark had always been partial to classic rock; he was such a cliché that Gordo couldn’t help but smile. 

“Nah, it’s some playlist of Robbie’s. Heard it the other day when I swung by the shop.” That made more sense – it sounded like the soft hipster coffee shop music that Robbie was always playing. Gordo let him have free reign of the speakers in the reception area; it kept Robbie off his ass and they could drown it out with their own music in the back easily enough. Country for Tanner, pop for Rico, grunge for Gordo, and, inexplicably, old school hip hop for Chris. Ox was easy-going as always, nodding along to whatever anyone else played.

Mark sighed. “It’s kind of nice. Feels calming.” 

Gordo swallowed, throat feeling thick for a moment. His hand settled on Mark’s thigh and squeezed. Mark turned and regarded him intently. Gordo felt as though he was being dissected and put back together in a million different configurations, each one hurting and aching more sweetly than the last. 

Mark stood, never taking his eyes from Gordo. Behind him, the movie came back on, but he didn’t move to unmute the tv.

Mark towered over him and in a perverse way, Gordo was certain he would never get tired of staring up at Mark, of feeling dwarfed and small and precious to this man before him.

“Do you want to dance with me?”

Gordo choked on his beer. “Do I want to what?”

“Dance with me.” Mark shrugged. “This song is nice. And we’ve never danced together. I asked you once, the day your mom- and well I always wanted to dance with you, Gordo.”

_ Once a tall boy in a shirt and a tie asked you to dance. His toes curled in the grass and it was green, so green, and he asked you to dance. He was tall and sweet and too much and looked at you like you were the only thing in this world that was his.  _

“I don’t really know how.” Gordo’s voice sounded rough and cleared his throat. “I’ve never- I’ve never danced with anyone before.” 

Gordo felt the pulse of blue as Mark grabbed his hand and pulled him up. He would hate that look on anyone else’s face, it wasn’t pity, but it was close. Second-hand sorrow for the loneliness and distance that had been most of Gordo’s life. 

“It’s not that hard, really.”

“Says the man who was apparently the belle of the ball all these years.”

“Nothing like that, Gordo. You know that.” And he did. They didn’t directly discuss the relationships they’d had during their years apart, but Gordo knew that Mark’s past wasn’t far off from his – nameless hook-ups interspersed with short, hollow relationships to take the edge off. And Dale, but they didn’t talk about that, unless Gordo was feeling particularly bitchy. 

“But you don’t live with Elizabeth for a few decades without getting roped in as a dance partner.” Mark continued. 

“Here,” he grunted and manoeuvred Gordo’s arms to rest on his shoulder. Mark’s hands came down to rest on Gordo’s waist.

“Why do you get to lead?” Gordo huffed. 

“Because I’m the one who’s done this before.” Mark had the nerve to look smug; he knew Gordo would crumble. Gordo wasn’t giving in that easy.

“I don’t think I’m a dancing kind of guy.”

“You’ve never tried it before. You might like it.”

“I’ve never eaten shit, but I’m pretty confident I won’t like it.” 

“I promise this will be better than eating shit.” The smile slid from Mark’s face. He studied Gordo’s face, eyes cataloguing the layers years had added. 

“I just-“ Mark closed his eyes. “I just imagined dancing with you a lot. When I was a teenager, but also later. After. And we never had the chance, but we do now. And I don’t want to regret not taking it.”

“Stupid mutt,” Gordo rolled his eyes, hoping uselessly that Mark wouldn’t see the wetness in their corners. But he tucked his head against Mark’s shoulder, and tangled his hand in Mark’s hair, tugging on the short strands. 

“Alright. Dance with me, Mark Bennett.”

The song had just changed. Soft guitar, the chime of a light cymbal. It felt warm and wistful and like a blue-green turquoise that enveloped Gordo and nearly knocked his breath out. 

Mark began to sway them back and forth, little movements, barely beyond rocking. He moved a little more, Gordo stepped to follow and-

“Ow. Watch yourself.”

Gordo rolled his eyes.

“Please, I’m not even wearing my boots. Besides, this was your idea.”

“Here.” Mark took Gordo’s left hand in his, and dropped his other hand to Gordo’s back and stepped back, putting more space between them. “Let me actually lead.”

It was awkward – Mark was leading with his right hand, so Gordo could use his left and Gordo was not a natural follower and kept trying to anticipate Mark’s movements, bumping into Mark’s chest more than once. 

But as the song played on, they found their rhythm. Mark’s hands gently guiding Gordo as he moved them in small steps around the living room. Gordo hummed under his breath, feeling the waves of green and  _ lovelovelove  _ and  _ gordopackmate. _

Suddenly, Gordo felt Mark’s arms shift and before he could react Mark was dipping him, or at least trying to. Gordo let out what was definitely not a squawk, as his stump scrambled to find purchase on Mark’s shoulder. He braced himself for the fall, but instead found himself held securely in Mark’s arms, looking up at eyes crinkled in laughter.

“You know I’ll never let you fall.”

Gordo wanted to say: But you have before.

Gordo wanted to say: You can’t promise that.

Gordo wanted to say: You don’t know what monsters wait for us.

Instead he said:

“You’re a corny asshole.”

Mark barked out a laugh. “And you love it.”

He pulled Gordo back to him, chest to chest, Gordo’s head tucked in at Mark’s neck. The last few chords of the song faded away, and Mark stilled, holding Gordo close, inhaling deeply.

Gordo couldn’t find it in him to protest.

After a long moment, Mark pulled away and kissed Gordo lightly. 

“Thank you. That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

“Well, no one broke a foot, so I guess we can call it a success.” Gordo’s lips curled slightly. “Was it what you thought it would be?” He asked.

Mark considered for a few seconds. 

“Yes and no. For one, we aren’t teenagers anymore and we’ve already mated, so this wasn’t the excuse to feel you up that I always imagined it would be. I can feel you up whenever I want to now.” And to illustrate his point, Mark’s hand slipped down lightning quick to give Gordo’s ass a squeeze before Gordo could stop him. 

Gordo huffed.

“But it’s better too. Because it’s really you. Not the you I spent decades building up in my head, not the you who made me so nervous I could barely speak. Just you. And that’s better than anything I could hope for.”

Gordo leaned up and kissed Mark slowly and steadily. Words were still hard to find sometimes and he hoped Mark understood. He thought he did.

As another song with strumming guitars, and jesus christ was that an accordion, came on, Gordo rolled his eyes. “Next time you can figure out how to slow dance to some Nirvana.”

Mark raised an eyebrow. “Next time?”

\----

A few weeks later, Gordo stood behind the front desk of the garage, leaning over Robbie’s shoulder as Robbie tried to explain the new scheduling system for the 5 th time this month. He heard familiar notes coming from the speakers.

“Uh Robbie – what’s this song?”

Robbie cocked his head at Gordo and looked as though Gordo had sprouted tentacles from his nose.

“Why are you asking about my music? You never ask about my music.” Robbie’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. 

Gordo was certain that Robbie could smell the embarrassment, but he had come this far.

“It’s – uh – nice. I guess.” It wasn’t a lie.

Robbie still regarded Gordo warily.

“I never pegged you for an Iron and Wine fan.”

“Who are they?”

“He. I guess you’d say he’s an indie folk singer.” The distaste must have shown on Gordo’s face.

“Although maybe not so indie. This is probably his most famous song.  _ Flightless Bird, American Mouth _ .”

“ _ Flightless Bird, American Mouth _ . What does that even mean? And why is it so famous?” Gordo asked.

Robbie was laughing now. 

“I guess I should have known you wouldn’t be a Twilight fan. Edward and Bella dance to it at their wedding in one of the movies. It’s their first dance song.”

When Gordo said, “we will never speak of this again,” the reappearance of the murder eyebrows were enough to keep the questions out of Robbie’s mouth.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set between Ravensong and Heartsong.

“You working late Friday?” Mark asked as Gordo was pulling on his boots.

“No, Chris and Rico are closing. Why?” 

“Oh good. I’d like to take you on a date.” Gordo dropped his boot and swore.

“You what?”

“A date, Gordo. You know those things that people who are romantically involved sometimes do.” Mark was humoring him and Gordo briefly wondered if his left-handed punch had improved enough to wipe the smirk off of his mate’s face.

“Yes, I am familiar with the concept.” Gordo’s voice was spiked with sarcasm. “But we’re also mated  _ and  _ living together. We’re not two teenagers courting.” 

There was a flash of something on Mark’s face and  _ oh _ . Gordo understood. He knew what Mark was going to say before the words were even forming in his mouth.

“I know.” He was battling his frustration back and for a moment, Gordo was worried that Mark would snap. They had been doing so well, but sometimes he couldn’t predict what might bring Mark’s Omega to the surface. But Mark took two steadying breaths and when he lifted his eyes to meet Gordo’s they were clear blue.

“It’s just another thing that I had imagined for us. A lot. Where we might have our first date, what we might do, what I’d wear, how I’d ask.”

Gordo couldn’t help himself. “Is this what you pictured then?”

Mark glared. “You’re an asshole sometimes, Gordo” and Gordo immediately felt bad. He started to apologize, because he _was_ an asshole _a_ _lot_ of the time, but Mark was already continuing. 

“Just because we’re already living together and already mated doesn’t mean that I don’t want to do something nice for you. I’ve spent most of my life thinking about how I can get it through your thick skull just how precious and important you are to me. I’ve also spent a lot of my life thinking about why you’re such a dick when someone tries to do something nice for you or show they care and I would appreciate it if you would just humor me here, Gordo.”

Mark’s nostrils flared, waiting for Gordo to fight, to say that it was the Bennetts’ fault, Mark’s fault that he couldn’t bear to let people love him, that he kept waiting for the other boot to drop and for everyone he loved to leave him again.

Gordo liked taking the wind out of Mark’s sails, liked surprising him.

“Ok.”

“Ok?” Mark asked slowly.

“Ok. Friday. You can pick me up from the garage at 6.”

And just like that, Mark asks Gordo out on their first date.

\--- 

Gordo knew he had made a mistake saying yes. 

Or at least a logistical error in suggesting that Mark pick him up directly from the shop.

It’s only as Gordo is about to leave the house Friday morning that he realizes he is going on a date, an actual date, and not just to the Lighthouse for wings and pitchers (Mark has been cagey about his plans, but Gordo is pretty certain that wouldn’t qualify as first date material in Mark’s eyes). Swearing, Gordo heads back inside to stuff a clean shirt and jeans into his bag. He doesn’t imagine Mark would appreciate Gordo wearing his dirty work shirt and frayed dickies out.

Of course, bringing a change of clothing to the garage means he has to actually, you know, change at the garage. Where his coworkers/best friends/brothers will see and will know something is up, because when was the last time Gordo was at work and not wearing his uniform?

So when Gordo emerges from the bathroom at 5 to 6, wearing a clean white shirt, his least scuffed leather jacket and jeans that don’t even have a hole in them, most of the grease cleaned from his hand, he braces himself for the comments.

Blessedly, Ox has the day off and Robbie has already left for the evening. Chris and Rico are busy wrapping up work on a sedan with a faulty carburetor, but of course Tanner, who should have already left for the day is just loitering there, leaning against a bench, fiddling with his phone.

Gordo sighs and tries to stride purposefully past Tanner. If he can just make it to the front door, he can wait outside, or better yet have Mark meet him out back in the alley away from prying-

“Hey! What’s up with the nice clothes?” Gordo turns to Tanner with his best glare, but Tanner just chuckles, the asshole.

“Well maybe nice is an overstatement. Clean. What’s up with the clean clothes?”

“Kindly fuck off, thank you.” Gordo snaps back.

“It’s just – you’re wearing actual clothing.”

“I’ve been known to do that.”

“Yeah but these don’t look like they’re one step above a dish rag.” Tanner raises his voice, “Rico, Chris. You gotta see this! Gordo’s  _ dressed up. _ ” 

“I am not dressed up!” Gordo shouts, but it’s too late – Rico and Tanner are already headed towards them.

“Well not by normal standards, but by Gordo standards, you definitely are  _ papi _ . What’s the occasion?” Rico is giving Gordo a once over so thorough that Gordo feels violated.

Gordo knows he should lie. He knows he will get endless shit for this, but the bit of his brain that seems to have gone soft in his current loved up state betrays him, whispering that he should tell the truth. That Mark loves him and is showing Gordo that and to hide that from his friends is a betrayal.

Gordo wishes he could have a lobotomy.

“Mark’s taking me out on a date.” He tries to keep his voice casual.

The stunned silence drags on. It’s Chris who breaks it first.

“A date?” His voice sounds compressed and choked.

“Yes,” Gordo rolls his eyes and for a moment wonders if his face can really get stuck that way. “I’ve been told that couples do that sometimes.”

“But-“ Tanner starts. “You do realize…”

It’s then that Rico breaks in. “This is Gordo’s first date!”

Gordo sputters. “What the hell are you talking about? I’ve been on dates before!”

“No you haven’t,  _ jefe _ . You’ve picked up men at bars, you’ve done the fuck buddy thing, but you’ve never gone on an actual date before.”

“I have been on dates before…” the pause in Gordo’s speech isn’t exactly inspiring. Thankfully he finds his thread of thought. 

“Jake! I went on dates with Jake! We went out to eat, that’s a date.” Gordo resents how petulant he knows that sounded and resents it even more when he sees the pity on his friends’ faces. 

“Jake? Who’s Jake?” Chris asks.

“Was he the welder with the red beard?”

“No, wasn’t that Gary? Jake was the geologist who was doing surveys outside of town. Fuck, that was like 12 years ago wasn’t it? He and Gordo holed up and fucked like rabbits while he was doing his research.” Rico supplies.

“Yes,” Gordo seethes. “Jake was the geologist. We went out a few times while he was here. I don’t think the fact that it was a short term relationship or that it may have happened some years ago disqualifies those from being dates.”

“No, but I also don’t think that surfacing in the middle of sex marathons to grab burgers at the Diner necessarily qualifies as a date either.” Tanner is looking at Gordo with more pity and Gordo wonders if maybe he  _ could _ summon force lightning and wipe the garage from the earth. 

“Says the man who has no actual desire to even go on dates.”

“Yeah, but I have enough romance shoved down my throat by the rest of society. I’ve seen movies. I’ve read books. I know a date when I see one, which is apparently more than I can say for you,” Tanner glares.

It’s then that Gordo notices that Rico has his phone out, pointed at Gordo as if he’s about to-

“Just what the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Gordo fixes him with his best and most murderous glare, but sometime between his friends finding out that werewolves  _ exist  _ and becoming actual badass human members of a pack, the glare seems to have lost its effectiveness.

“I’m taking a photo!” Rico’s face is pure, evil delight. “It’s our baby’s first date – we need to document the milestone!”

“You fuckers-“ Gordo makes a grab for the phone, which of course is just when Mark enters the garage, looking wholly unruffled and bemused by the scene in front of him.

Mark’s eyes sweep down Gordo in what can only be described as a lascivious fashion, and Gordo thinks briefly that maybe the amount of teasing his clothing has elicited was worth it. If Mark’s face is any indication, this date will at least end in bed, and Gordo can’t object to that.

And then Mark opens his mouth.

“Gordo, no need to get all dressed up.” 

“Oh fuck off. Take a good long look and store it up in your spank bank, because this is the last time you’re ever seeing me in these clothes.” 

Mark just licks his lips. 

“And stop imagining me naked! That isn’t what I meant! Pervert!” Gordo scowls.

Chris and Tanner both choke out their laughter, but Rico just turns to Mark, phone still raised.

“Mark, get in here, we were just about to take a picture of Gordo to mark the momentous occasion!”

“I hate everyone,” Gordo grouses. “We are not taking a photo, we are leaving.”

“But it’s your first date! We need to commemorate it!” Rico whines.

Mark is still smiling gently, and as Gordo grabs his arm and steers him out of the garage and to the car, he thinks vaguely that he should have let Rico take a picture, just to remember how warm and crinkled Mark’s eyes looked in the moment.

\---

They make it to a local brewery for dinner without incident, the ride filled mostly with comfortable (maybe slightly annoyed) silence and the low noise of a classic rock station coming from the radio. 

Gordo limits himself to only a few snarky comments about the hipster levels of the place, and Mark refrains from pointing out that Gordo always steals Chris’ microbrews at Sunday dinners. 

It’s as Gordo is most of the way through his overly fancy, but surprisingly delicious bacon and blue cheese burger and well into his third beer that Mark gives him that intent and deeply flaying look he has perfected these past few months.

“So… I guess the guys were pretty excited for us.” 

Gordo is warmed by the beer (he’s not a lightweight, it’s these damn 7% DIPAs that he’ll never admit to enjoying) and the food and is definitely getting soft, because he responds with an almost alarming lack of deflection.

“It was less about us and more about me, I think. According to them, I’ve never been on a date before.”

The fact that Mark appears neither surprised, nor too sad on his behalf both comforts and annoys Gordo.

“What – no comments on my pathetic lack of meaningful relationships over the years? No sad puppy dog eyes at me sitting lonely and unloved for decades?” The words are sarcastic and spiteful, but Gordo’s voice lacks its usual bite – he sounds jarringly neutral.

They’ve had these discussions here and there in the past months. Gordo knows that Mark is trying to work through his guilt over leaving Gordo behind, over making a choice that was no choice at all, over the ways that he has hurt Gordo as much as Gordo’s father has. But Gordo is tired of hearing it and tired of being reminded of the nights he spent drinking cheap whisky until he passed out on the couch, a half eaten tv dinner on the floor and late night samurai films dubbed in Spanish on the tv. 

With a pang in his ribs, Gordo realizes that he doesn’t know how Mark spent those years. Being the second to the Alpha of All, he supposes, and maybe more importantly, being a beloved, if slightly distant uncle. Gordo knows now that those decades have scarred Mark too, but he can’t bring himself to ask, not yet. He might be getting over the blame, but he still isn’t ready to see Mark as the victim he was too. 

Gordo wonders what that says about him as a mate.

“You were never unloved,” Gordo begins to interrupt, but Mark cuts him off and continues. “Even when it wasn’t me, don’t tell me for a moment that Chris, Tanner, and Rico, and Ox, didn’t love you with everything. Even when you were being a mopey asshole.”

Gordo barks out a short laugh.

“Besides,” Mark starts, “it’s just a date. This is the easy part. Like you said, we’re already mated, we already live together.”

Sometimes, Gordo wonders at the way he can read Mark, even after all these years. It’s not always there, but sometimes Mark will say something and Gordo understands an entirely different meaning and  _ he’s righ _ t. Which is why Gordo knows that it’s just a date, but it is also very much more.

“Tell me what you had planned,” Gordo demands lightly.

“What?”

“You said before that you’d imagined our first date. A lot. Don’t try to pretend that you didn’t have some elaborate first date fantasy scenario planned out.”

“Who said I was going to be the one asking you out?” Mark has an eyebrow raised, but he’s smiling indulgently, and god, Gordo loves this man, loves this moment.

Gordo huffs. Lovingly.

“Fine, fine. The idea changed, you know. Over the years. I used to think, maybe a romantic picnic, in the clearing behind the house. But then that seemed too close to the pack, and later too close to everything we had lost. I wanted it to just be me and you. Just about us. So then, I had this idea about taking you to the Diner and then to the movies, because that’s what everyone at school did on dates. But we’d done that before, and I was pretty sure it didn’t count as a date. I thought about the Italian restaurant, the one with the table clothes and real cloth napkins, but that seemed too fancy and I thought it would freak you out. For a brief period of time I even thought about taking you fishing.”

Gordo snorts.

“I could have corrected your form! Wrapped my arms around you, shown you how to cast,” Mark chuckles. “But yes, eventually I realized that fishing was probably not the way to your heart.”

“So what did you settle on then?”

“Well, actually,” Mark smiles, a predator flirting with its prey, “you’ll find out after dinner.”

\---

“A drive in. What are we, Johnny quarterback and Suzy cheerleader celebrating a win after the big game?”

Mark smiles as he parks the car, tuning the radio to the movie’s audio channel.

“There happen to be some real perks to a drive in.” Gordo arches an eyebrow in a look that is so patently Mark that Mark can’t help but lean in and steal a kiss.

“For one,” Mark starts, “no kids talking through the film and no assholes using their phones. I know how you hate other people.” Gordo snorts.

“Two, I brought a 6 pack from the brewery. I don’t think we’re meant to be drinking here, but hey the teenagers working the gate don’t seem too interested. And three,” he leans in, “we can do as much of this as we want,” he finishes, capturing Gordo’s lips in a slow and drawn out kiss, teeth catching on his bottom lip.

“And four… they’re playing  _ Labyrinth _ .” Gordo rolls his eyes and tries to look coolly detached, but he can feel the grin tugging itself across his face anyways.

Mark leans in, lips brushing lightly against the shell of Gordo’s ear. “I know how you feel about David Bowie in those pants.” Gordo shudders, heat curling in his stomach at the sensation of Mark’s warm, damp breath on his ear. And just a bit at the mental image of David Bowie’s skin-tight pants. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh I’m sorry. It must have been someone else who confessed that the Goblin King made them realize they were gay. Some other teenager I knew who saw Labyrinth 3 times when they were showing it at the movie theatre.” Mark pauses. “Wait, no, that was you. Last time we went out with Rico and he challenged you to match him shot for tequila shot.” 

“Fuck off,” Gordo says, but he’s grinning as the opening music begins to play. “Hand me a beer.” 

\---

Sarah has only just met Hoggle for the first time, when Gordo feels a hand lightly stroking his thigh. He looks over to see Mark watching the movie intently, no sign on his face that his pinky is lightly drawing circles on Gordo’s inner leg, applying just enough pressure to be felt through jeans. 

Gordo grabs Mark’s hand, stilling it and Mark wraps his fingers in Gordo’s. For a few minutes they are still, until Gordo begins to feel Mark stroking his fingers, his touch feather-light and playful. 

“Is this how you were going to make a move then?” Gordo is actually flirting, in a soft teasing way, not like his usual bitching and pigtail pulling. Maybe it’s the beer, maybe it’s the imagined privacy of the car, or maybe it’s the actual mood of the date, sweeping him away in the intimate and warm atmosphere that exists when it’s just him and Mark.

Mark finally looks over at Gordo, smiling, and Gordo knows Mark can hear his heart beating harder and the way his breaths get just a little shorter.

“No, this is how I was going to make a move,” Mark says, as he grasps the back of Gordo’s head, tugging on hair. 

The angle is awkward, Gordo shifted on his side in his seat and Mark leaning across the console between seats, his stomach pressing against the gear shift. But the kiss is all heat, Gordo reveling in the smooth slide of Mark’s tongue against his, the sweet drag of chapped lips. 

Gordo groans as Mark’s lips make their way to his jaw, the rough catch of beard against stubble, soothed by soft, wet kisses and the lightest flick of tongue. Sliding his tongue wickedly to the pulse point under Gordo’s jaw, Mark begins to worry the skin, biting sharply and softly, soothing the pain with his lips. 

“Fuck.” Gordo grunts, his hand tugging Mark’s hair, pulling him away and then pressing him right back into Gordo, as he bares his neck.

Gordo pulls away for a moment, panting heavily, before ducking in to capture Mark’s lips in a rough and claiming kiss. Their lips and tongues battle for dominance, a familiar game that leaves both men panting and flushed. 

“I have an idea,” Mark smirks wickedly and adjusts his seat as far back as it can go, gesturing his hands to his lap.

Gordo squints. 

“You’re fucking with me. No way in hell am I getting on your lap in this truck.”

“What? You don’t think I drive a big pickup truck just so I can haul wolves and lumber, do you?”

“I think you drive a big pickup truck to compensate for other areas of your life,” Gordo glares. 

Mark raises an eyebrow. “That was a lie. Now get over here.”

Gripping his bicep, Mark manhandles Gordo across the console and into his lap, Gordo’s legs straddling Mark’s thighs, knees bent on the seat. It’s an awkward movement, and Gordo bashes his knee on the cupholder, swearing loudly, but then he settles, flush against Mark, chest to chest and groin to groin. 

Gordo feels the desire unfurl in his gut, and with a groan, he grinds down into Mark’s lap, as he captures Mark’s mouth, tongues moving against each other slowly, filthily. At this angle, Gordo’s jeans are too loose and pulled too taught to get the friction he’s after, but he can feel Mark hard and pressing against his thigh, in the tight jeans that Gordo loves to tease him about. The feeling sends the blood to Gordo’s own cock, and with a muffled moan, he bucks against his mate, trying to get what friction he can against the rough denim.

“Fuck,” Mark pants. “We’re still in public, you know.” 

Gordo looks around, taking in the other cars parked a few meters away.

“Just let me…” Gordo presses a finger to a small rune on the inside of his right wrist, and suddenly the truck is unbearably humid, condensation seeping in through the cracked windows and vents, fogging up the windshield and windows until they can’t see out. 

“I think people might still be able to guess what we’re up to,” Mark says, but he smiles and thrusts his hips up slightly, growling at the feeling of Gordo’s ass flush against his cock.

“I don’t care, as long as they can’t see,” and Mark feels the rough drag of calluses just under the waistband of his jeans. Gordo pulls their bodies even closer, as he traces the shell of Mark’s ear with the slightest tip of his tongue, grinding down and trying to find a rhythm.

It isn’t long until they’re both thrusting slowly and forcefully, panting into each other’s mouths. Gordo’s hand fumbles with the buttons on Mark’s jeans, the angle and the awkwardness of using his left hand making them impossible to open.

“Just let me,” Mark whispers, quickly popping his own buttons, and making quick work of Gordo’s as well. Gordo’s hips stutter and he hisses sharply, as Mark’s rough hand wraps around his length. There is no gentle teasing or soft touches, just firm pressure and the glide of skin moving up and down. 

Gordo manages to get his hand into Mark’s pants, the angle uncomfortable and pressing, and he can’t seem to get a good rhythm going. His noise of frustration bleeds into a moan, as Mark’s hand twists just right, a thumb gently rubbing against the head of his cock.

Mark shifts Gordo back a moment, and adjusts, giving Gordo a better angle and then  _ oh there it is _ , that sweet movement that has them both breathing hard. Gordo’s face is pressed in Mark’s neck, blindly kissing any skin his lips can reach, rocking hard against Mark’s hand, the pressure and the speed not enough and far too much at the same time.

With a low moan, Gordo’s orgasm rolls through him, his hips grinding down slowly once, twice, again, before he freezes and feels himself come sticky and hot onto Mark’s hand.

His hand loses it’s rhythm for a moment, as Gordo catches his breath, but then it’s back, gripping Mark’s cock firmly and roughly. Mark’s hips are shifting under him and Gordo knows he is close, knows it the way he knows every thought that washes across Mark’s face in this moment, all  _ heatlustlove _ . 

Gordo leans in and whispers, “come for me,” and it’s as powerful as any magic Gordo has ever rendered. Mark shudders, his hands tightening their hold on Gordo’s biceps, and Gordo slowly milks his cock as he comes, squeezing him through the final tremors of his orgasm.

It takes a few moments for reality to seep back in. Gordo can hear Ludo’s plaintive grumbles, but the windows are still fogged up. Mark reaches for a tissue and hands one to Gordo, pressing a sweet kiss against smiling lips.

“I had a feeling I might get lucky on this date,” Mark says with a chuckle.

“God, you’re turning me into a horny teenager again.”

“I don’t know… I think we have David Bowie to thank for that.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set post-Heartsong.

With a quiet sigh, Gordo tumbles into his bed, reveling in the softness of the comforter, the smell of him and Mark mingled and surrounding him.

It’s only been a day since he and Mark returned from Caswell, long weeks since he gained and lost his brother and Gordo is tired. He still feels hollow, scraped out, but unable to rest. Thoughts of his father and Gavin and  _ Carter _ , who is a brittle husk of anger and sadness, weigh on him.

Gordo breathes in deeply, trying to drown himself in the smells of home and comfort. 

Their room is much as they’ve left it, forgotten laundry in a pile next to the closet, a half read book face down on the nightstand. Only the dust on the dresser and cobwebs on the ceiling speak to the time they have been away. 

Gordo feels the bed shift under weight, and a warm hand is lightly tracing circles on his back. Gordo rolls over and presses into Mark, still damp and warm from his shower. Gordo doesn’t mind that his own pajamas are getting wet, doesn’t mind the cool water from Mark’s beard seeping into his own hair. He’s brave enough to admit that right now touch and intimacy are what he needs.

“Show me.”

Mark pulls away, just enough for Gordo to see his eyes, and flashes them orange. Gordo’s too tired to feel remotely ashamed of the strangled noise that rips from his mouth.

Mark holds him close, running soothing hands through hair and over skin.

“Turn over, on your stomach,” Mark says as he tugs off Gordo’s shirt, gently pushing Gordo down into the bed. Gordo can’t find it in himself to protest, let alone ask what Mark is playing at. He complies.

Gordo feels Mark’s heavy weight pressing down against him, as Mark straddles Gordo’s thighs. Thumbs press into Gordo’s shoulder muscles and a groan escapes Gordo’s lips.

“You’ve been tense for weeks. The drive back didn’t help.”

“I’ve been tense my whole life,” Gordo mumbles into his pillow. He feels the movement of Mark’s chuckle shake through Mark’s belly and ripple down to his own thigh.

Mark’s hands continue their massage, sweeping firmly across skin, applying pressure to the knots that have accumulated in Gordo’s shoulders and neck. Mark focuses his thumbs on a particularly stubborn bit of Gordo’s trapezius. Gordo feels his body tense in pain, and then slowly relax, as the muscle is loosened and Mark soothes the spot with a kiss.

Relaxed and warm, Mark’s touches shift from firm to light as a breeze, fingertips brushing down Gordo’s spine and sweeping down the back of Gordo’s arms. His touch leaves a tingling trail of sparks behind. Gordo shivers. 

A shift and Mark is lying down, flush against Gordo’s back, pressing soft kisses into his neck, under his ear in the place that Gordo’s scent seems to be most concentrated. Mark’s touches are soft and loving, none of the usual fight and fire that normally triggers Gordo’s arousal, and yet he can feel the telltale pressure building in his groin. Gordo rocks his hips slowly back into Mark’s, wriggling gently against Mark’s firm thighs and feeling a semi-hardness pressing back.

The weight moves off of him, and Gordo feels the dip in the bed as Mark moves to his side. Gordo rolls over, relaxed and ungraceful, his eyes never moving far from Mark’s. Their faces are close and in any other circumstance Gordo would find the eye contact too intense, too challenging, but here, with Mark, it’s just another language. Unspoken, but still he can read a universe of meanings in Mark’s eyes.

Mark leans in to kiss him, gentle and slow and Gordo shifts nearer, wrapping his leg over Mark’s hip. He needs to be closer, needs to feel the  _ thumpthumpthump  _ of his mate’s heart, needs to know that they are safe and that for the first time since they mated, that Mark is whole. 

The kiss deepens, tongues sliding slowly, fingers dancing over skin. Mark is being gentle, and Gordo is not a china doll, but he doesn’t argue. There has been no lack of love between them these past two years, but the rough undercurrent of all their past hurts, sharpened by the Omega, has colored their interactions. They’ve kissed softly, stroked lightly, whispered words Gordo never thought would fall from Mark’s lips, let alone his own, but the sex has never been slow or gentle. There is love in their coupling, but there is also fight and fury. Gordo sometimes doesn’t know where his own anger ended and the rage of the Omega began.

So this is different. It feels different and weighty and more and for a moment Gordo feels like the teenage virgin he never was, all uncertainty and nerves. Gordo’s done slow, sure, but mostly he’s done fast and rough and nameless over the years. And although his eyes might roll straight out of his head at the words, he’s certainly never  _ made love  _ and this feels dangerously like what they’re careening towards.

Marks hands are insistent and  _ everywhere _ , stroking along Gordo’s flank, curling in his hair, scraping a nail across his pebbling nipple. Gordo groans into Mark’s mouth at the feel of Mark’s hand slipping into his pants, curling around his cock, slowly rocking his hips forward. He wants more, wants friction, but Mark is taking his time and it’s all the sweeter and all the more frustrating. 

Gordo feels the cool air of his pajama bottoms being pulled down, and leans back on his elbows, canting his hips up. Mark is naked, and when did that happen? Only the thought leaves him immediately, because Mark is naked and squeezing lube on his hands and warming it with his fingers and then  _ oh _ .

Gordo plants his feet firmly, trying to drive back onto Mark’s hand. But Mark is fucking him slowly, dragging first one, then two fingers in and out, making Gordo squirm.

“You can, ah,” Gordo gasps, “fuck me now. Please.” Mark just hums and smiles.

“I know. But this is more fun.”

Gordo doesn’t think he’s ever been teased so ruthlessly, been taken apart so carefully. He’s long past prepared for Mark’s cock inside him, and still Mark is stretching him and stroking him with his clever blunt fingers. 

By the time Mark slides inside him, Gordo’s breaths are ragged and harsh. He wants nothing more than to be taken and fucked, harshly and brutally. He wants nothing more than to be loved and held. 

There’s a frisson between them as Mark moves flush inside Gordo and then stills. 

“I love you,” Mark whispers. 

They barely speak during sex, not when they’ve reached this point, usually too far gone for anything besides grunts and wrung out curses.

“I love you too. So fucking much.” There’s a break in Gordo’s voice, and it’s filled with sadness and pleasure and hope. Above all else, there is hope.

“Always your last,” Mark growls and he is moving, deliberate and measured. The drag of his cock lights Gordo’s nerve endings on fire. 

“Always my last,” Gordo agrees.

Mark fucks him slowly and deeply, rocking gently into Gordo, his arms shaking from the exertion and anticipation. He grinds down with every thrust, reaching even deeper, the base of his cock rubbing roughly against Gordo’s ass, irritating the already oversensitive skin. 

The build up is so slow that Gordo is surprised to find himself so close to coming. His eyes are squeezed tightly shut and he is surrounded by Mark, by the sounds of their breaths, the smell of Mark’s sweat, the feel of Mark’s skin.

“Look at me,” Mark demands, and Gordo is helpless to deny him. His eyes snap open, locking onto Mark’s, as he feels Mark wrap his hand on his cock, pumping him deliberately and steadily in time with his thrusts.

Gordo comes with a shudder, his words and noises ripped from his throat. His orgasm seems to go on and on, his body tense and trembling. Mark still and grinds into him deeply, as his own orgasm ripples through his body.

Mark collapses on top of him with a sigh, his weight trapping Gordo against the mattress. Gordo doesn’t move to shove him off. He runs his hand lightly up and down Mark’s spine, soothing as Mark finds his breath. Gordo stares at the ceiling, unseeing, his thoughts mercifully blank, as he tracks Mark's breaths through the rise and fall of his back.

“I think my leg is going numb,” Gordo whispers a few minutes later, and Mark rolls off, immediately curling around Gordo’s side and draping an arm across his chest. The weight is a welcome replacement – Gordo feels as though he may float away any moment now.

“That was,” Gordo starts, “wow.”

“Wow?” Mark asks, grinning.

“Intense.”

“It’s how it should have been,” Mark says quietly, his words barely murmurs against Gordo’s neck. “The first time, when we-“

“Stop.” Gordo curls his hand on Mark’s wrist, thumb instinctively pressing into his pulse. “There’s no point.”

“I just hate thinking of you for all those years. Those other men.” Gordo tenses. “Not like that. I mean, I hate thinking of that too… but… sex was never about love for you. Anger and lust and revenge, but not love. And I hate that I did that to you too.”

Gordo is silent for a moment. His head hurts and he has had to deal with more feelings in the last month than he has in years. His sinuses throb. He thinks he might cry.

“You didn’t. Even when I was angry. Even when you were scared. I always knew. That you loved me.”

“I’m going to make sure you know every single day for the rest of your life,” Mark says, and his hold tightens.

“Okay.”

That night Gordo dreams of a raven made of bark, delicate and curling. He holds it carefully in his hands and a haunting howl sings him home.


	4. Chapter 4

_ After after after. _

They are in the after now. Gordo never thought he would live to see it. 

After Richard Collins. After Elijah. After Michelle Hughes. After his father. 

After.

It isn’t a Sunday, but the backyard is still filled with people, shouts and laughter, the smell of food.

A barbecue. Ox had suggested it, not because there was anything special to celebrate, but because it is a Wednesday in June and the weather is warm and light. Because the pack is finally whole and because they’re here and because they can.

Gordo sits on the grass, back against a tree, a cold beer in his hand. He is watching from the outside, the way he used to. Only now he doesn’t feel removed, detached from the pack. He knows he belongs fundamentally. He wants to absorb the sight of his pack, his family, wants to carve this memory into his bones. Robert Livingstone is dead and Gordo is still here.

There is music blasting from a speaker and Gordo watches as Dominique dips Jessie low, swinging her up for a kiss, before twirling her away. A shriek and he can see Kelly and Carter embroiled in a full out water war, Robbie caught in the middle trying to keep the spray away from his glasses. Joe stands at the grill, Ox beside him, an arm wrapped around Joe’s waist. Joe leans back and smiles.

Chris and Tanner are on the ground with little Joshua, holding his pudgy hands as he tries to take a few steps, before crashing down on his butt and giggling. Rico and Bambi join Jessie and Dominique in their dancing, holding each other close and looking like total saps. Gavin sits with Elizabeth – they are quiet and watching, until Gordo sees his brother mutter something and Elizabeth’s laugh rings across the clearing, bright and clear.

And Mark. Mark is walking towards him, smiling in the early evening sun.

He slides down next to Gordo, leaning back against the rough bark of the tree, pressing their arms together.

“What’s up?” Mark is smiling indulgently. For once, Gordo simply smiles back.

“Just watching. Remembering.”

“This used to be your favorite spot. Sitting here, watching the pack. Glaring.”

Gordo hums in response.

“It’s not how I thought it would happen,” Mark continues, “but I feel damn lucky. All of this. A pack, a family.”

Gordo lets his head fall onto Mark’s shoulder.

“You told me that once. That you couldn’t wait for us to have our own pack, our own family.”

“Yeah, and we have that now.” Gordo could feel the green everywhere, not just Mark, not just him, but the whole pack. There was no other meaning to the words. Still he couldn’t stop himself.

“That wasn’t what you meant.”

“Huh?”

“A family. You wanted kids of your own.”

Gordo can feel Mark stiffen, just slightly, but enough to know he has taken him off guard. Gordo sets his beer down and takes Mark’s hand in his own, his skin cool and damp against Mark’s warm, dry palm.

“I haven’t thought about that in a long time.”

And Gordo knows that that is the truth. That Mark has spent decades putting the wants of others, the needs of the pack, Gordo’s safety and comfort above his own. He doesn’t doubt for one moment, that when Mark looks out over the clearing he sees the family he always wanted. Gordo knows it is both enough and not.

“I didn’t know what to think. When you first said it. I barely understood what we were to each other.”

“You were 13. I don’t think anyone expected you to know what you wanted.” Mark plays with Gordo’s fingers.

“You were 16. And you always knew what you wanted. You were so sure.”

Mark snorts.

“Awkward as hell,” Gordo continues, “yeah, but you knew what you wanted.”

They sit in silence for slow minutes, taking in the sounds and smells and feelings of the pack around them.

“Do you regret it?” Gordo asks. “Not having kids, I mean.” The words tumble out before he can stop himself. He wants to know and he doesn’t. He thinks he should just stay in this moment of limbo as long as he can, this world where both and either and neither are true.

“I don’t regret how my life has turned out,” Mark responds quietly.

“That isn’t what I asked.”

“Of course I regret the years we lost. The time we could have been together. How we left things. I don’t know. If things were different, do you think we would have had children of our own?”

Gordo pauses to think. This isn’t a thing they do normally, indulge in what ifs. Between them, they have enough regrets to last a lifetime. Gordo tries his best to avoid being maudlin; he doesn’t need to dwell in the past, not when he finally has a future in front of him. Still, this question is important, this conversation has been weighing on him.

“It’s hard to say.” Gordo knows it sounds like a cop out, but it isn’t. He continues. 

“Like I said, I didn’t think much about kids when I was younger. There were so many other things to think about. Abstractly, though, the idea of a family with you was appealing.” Mark squeezes his hand. “But after, well, everything, I never wanted them. I couldn’t even imagine a version of my life that kids would have fit into. I don’t know if that would have been different, if we had had a chance. I don’t think I would have known how to be a good father. Role models and all.”

“You did well enough with Ox.”

“You sure about that?” Mark follows Gordo’s gaze to the left, where Ox has joined in the water fight and is sat on Carter’s chest, gleefully dumping water on Carter’s crotch and laughing deeply.

Mark smiles. “I’m pretty sure.”

Gordo swallows thickly, marshalling his nerves. It’s now or never, he thinks, and the never is tempting, but the now also thrills and scares him with its possibility.

“We could still. You know. If you wanted.”

“What? Have kids?” Mark shifts to stare at him, eyes wide with wonder.

“There’s lots of surrogacy options these days, although I’m not sure if you want a random woman carrying a werewolf baby. But there’s adoption too. I guess, I’m just saying, we could. It isn’t too late.”

Mark’s eyes bulge, and Gordo is pretty sure he has left his mate speechless. It isn’t that impressive of a feat, considering how talkative Mark normally is, but he still wants to know what he’s thinking.

“Isn’t it though? I mean, I’m 45, that’s kind of… old,” Mark ventures after a while. Gordo is painfully aware that that isn’t a no.

Gordo shrugs.

“Older people have children. Look, I guess I’m just saying that I’m open to the possibility. I never thought this would be a choice we could make. But… uh… we can.”

Mark is silent and Gordo breathes deeply, his head spinning. He doesn’t know why he’s arguing this, he isn’t even entirely sure he does want kids, but he also knows that all he has wanted since he was 12 is Mark. And maybe it is now, in this moment where there is a future of choices in front of him, no longer dictated by bloodlines and packs and prophecies, that he can begin to let himself picture what a future that he and Mark can shape together might look like.

“Would you really want to?” Mark asks quietly, after some time.

“I want us to think about it. I want us to have the choice,” Gordo replies.

\---

It’s a week later that Mark comes home to a folder sitting on the kitchen table. Gordo is out, meeting with Ox to discuss movements of witches in the Dakotas, but the writing on the folder is his cribbed, left-handed scrawl.

Mark picks it up, and a paper falls out. Stooping, he grabs it from the floor and turns it over.

Riverton Surrogacy Services: FAQs

Mark’s throat feels tight as he shuffles through the rest of the papers, eyes glancing over flyers for adoption agencies and application forms for surrogacy centers.

He flips the folder over, squinting to read Gordo’s handwriting. 

_ Choices _ , the folder says. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will say in my head canon, that I don't think Mark and Gordo do actually move forward with having a baby. Adoption and surrogacy are long processes and I think ultimately, both would feel too old to go through that. It's more about them being able to make the choice themselves.
> 
> But! I do think there's maybe a future where some orphaned tween witch or werewolf rocks up in Green Creek and they become adoptive parents that way. I just don't see them having a baby.
> 
> Anyways, hope you enjoyed! I'm terribly out of practice at writing, so any feedback is welcome.


End file.
